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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27969875">I'm feeling like a half me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxbegone/pseuds/maxbegone'>maxbegone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek Tumblr Prompts [23]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Comfort, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Husbands, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Post-Series, References to Depression, Seasonal Affective Disorder, Self-Reflection</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 10:28:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,232</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27969875</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxbegone/pseuds/maxbegone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter hit David just as hard as it hit Schitt’s Creek this year. The dark days brought a slow pace and the chill ever-present chill didn’t help either. He does have a support system - Patrick, Stevie, his family, even the Brewers by extension - but there’s a distinct difference between being alone and feeling lonely. David knew that feeling all too well during the last few months he lived in New York. </p><p>He just never said anything outright.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek Tumblr Prompts [23]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806070</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>178</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I'm feeling like a half me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwiana/gifts">yourbuttervoicedbeau (kiwiana)</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for anonymous and yourbuttervoicedbeau for the prompt <i>a hand-written note.</i></p><p>Title from Trick to Happy by Bahamas.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>David putters around the store after closing, rearranging the products so they’re all facing out the same direction, dusting the displays and marble mortar bowls that sit on the higher shelves. He takes his time, working through the closing procedures with care and balancing the till two or three times before David is convinced he got it on the mark.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Winter hit David just as hard as it hit Schitt’s Creek this year. The dark days brought a slow pace and the chill ever-present chill didn’t help either. He does have a support system - Patrick, Stevie, his family, even the Brewers by extension - but there’s a distinct difference between being alone and feeling lonely. David knew that feeling all too well during the last few months he lived in New York.</p>
  <p>He just never said anything outright.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Once everything is accounted for, David ducks into the back room to grab his things. He wraps himself up in his scarf, a soft, lovely cashmere they now carry because apparently the cat hair scarves were aiming for too narrow of a market to gain any profit. That, and the fact that too many people were allergic (”It’s just a lawsuit waiting to happen, David.”).</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As he pulls his coat off the hook on the wall, a flash of bright yellow catches David’s eye. It must have slipped from his coat pocket, but he rarely uses sticky notes. That’s more Patrick’s thing. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He shrugs and unfolds the small square of paper. His shoulders relax upon seeing the scrawl. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <strong>
      <em>Made you look.</em>
    </strong>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It even has a little smiley face. David shakes his head even though he’s alone, even though his unrelenting husband is a few miles away and knows exactly what to do to make David smile even just a bit. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He tucks it back into his pocket, making a mental note to tape it into his commonplace book before bed, and heads out the door with his bag in hand.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The drive home is as uneventful as ever, minus the light snowfall on this mid-January evening. The knot in David’s chest tightens as he comes up on the motel. He thinks about stopping in for a split second just to say hello to Stevie and maybe see if she wants to tag along for dinner, but remembers just in time that she’s in Wisconsin for the week and decides against it. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But David finds himself parking in front of his family’s old bank of rooms anyway, headlights flooding the now empty window boxes. He sits in silence, the engine of the boat of a Lincoln he’s driving humming around him. Slowly, he runs a hand over the dashboard like he’s caressing the physical memory of his family and the few years they lived in those two tiny rooms. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He wouldn’t give it up for anything, even if privacy was hard to come by at times. David still aches heavily, still misses them even over a year after they’ve all left. And it isn’t like they left him behind, he chose to stay, happily. They still visit, Alexis more so than their parents because she has the leniency, and they talk more now than prior to their fall from grace, but that doesn’t change the fact that he wishes he could just pop in and see them all. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>David sighs and glances at the bright <em>No Vacancy </em>sign in the office window, the <em>No </em>still out even though Stevie has told him they funds to fix it. It’s just one of little nuance he cherishes about this place. He supposes, in a way, it just gives the Rosebud more character.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Not wanting to idle any longer, and seeing Roland’s truck three spots away from his and <em>really </em>not wanting to get caught in a conversation with him tonight, David reverses and heads home. Patrick’s probably waiting for him, hopefully with a fire going and dinner ready. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He’s home before he realizes, sort of driving on auto pilot for that stretch of ten minutes until, suddenly, he’s parking in the driveway. David shuts the car off and sits in the total silence for a long moment before he find the energy to walk. He feels dead-tired from being on his feet all day and from several weeks of a slumping mood.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A gust of wind bites at his exposed cheeks as David makes his way to the front door, careful not to slip on two-day-old snow that’s become slick with the falling temperature. Just as he reaches for the handle, prematurely embracing the warmth of their home, David is stopped in his tracks as yet another yellow square sticky note greets him on the door.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>
      <strong>Welcome home, baby. Dinner on the couch and a movie tonight.  I love you - P</strong>
    </em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>David is, of course, smiling a little wider as he steps through the front door. The smell of spices and onions float in from the kitchen. David toes off his shoes, hangs up his coat  beside Patrick’s in the closet - but not before digging the other note out of his pocket - and drops his bag by the staircase. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He finds his husband in the kitchen, humming and swaying around to one of his folky rock playlists as he stirs something delicious in a large pot. David leans into the door jamb and observes this private moment until Patrick catches him, mid-turn, as he reaches the fridge.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hi.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hi.” David steps further into the kitchen, slumping against the island. “I saw your note.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Patrick grins as he pulls out a tub of sour cream. “Yeah? Which one?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Both of them.” David holds up the two pieces of yellow paper. “Made me smile.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Patrick pries the off the plastic lid and sets it aside. “Good. Seeing you smile makes my day.” He comes around to David’s side of the island, then, eyes wide and gentle despite the slight earnestness in them. “You’ve seemed kind of down recently. Quite, too.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>David shrugs. “It’s the winter,” he replies honestly. “It just happens.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>And Patrick - wonderful, understanding Patrick - doesn’t press further, because he knows David wouldn’t be able to handle the questions right now even though he means well. Instead, he steps even closer, takes David’s face in his hands and kisses the corner of his mouth. “I missed your smile.” And when David’s lips pull of their own volition, Patrick adds a soft, “There it is,” smiling, too.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He encourages David to change into something more comfortable and to meet him in the living room. He finds Patrick ready and waiting with two bowls of turkey chili topped with sour cream. He kisses David soundly as they settle in for the evening, a selection of movies queued-up for them to choose from. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Before bed that night, after he puts both notes into his little journal amongst theatre tickets, newspaper clippings, and quotes, David takes a page out of Patrick’s book. He locates the stack of sticky notes he keeps on their desk and peels one off.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>
      <strong>Thank you for today. Thank you for being patient. Thank you for loving me through it.</strong>
    </em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>David sets it on Patrick’s toothbrush where he’ll easily find it. And when he does, he slips under the covers with minty breath and a knowing look, pulling David into his side. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>If he snuggles a little closer to Patrick that evening, then that’s all there is to know.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! You can find me <a href="maxbegone.tumblr.com">@maxbegone</a> on tumblr!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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